


A Merry War

by Mystique



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: And he did it better, Belligerent Sexual Tension, F/M, Hate Sex, Hate at First Sight, Hate to Love, I'll tag that bridge when I get to it, If I can work myself up to it, Love/Hate, Named Reader, Reader will burn down your house with her fury, Reader-Insert, Sans just likes to fuck with people, Shakespeare did this already, Snarky Reader, Sneaky Shipper!Papyrus, Verbal Sparring, maybe followed by some good old fashioned dom!sans if I get that far, reader is female
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6983713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystique/pseuds/Mystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are a no-shit, snarky writer who maybe drinks a bit too much (but all the great writers were alcoholics too right?) You've built walls around yourself with harsh words to keep all but a select few people out, and you are happy to keep it this way. Except now your small family circle is about to get bigger. Your sister is getting married so now your personal life is being invaded by her fiancé, a too tall, too exuberant, and too cheerful skeleton man who is actually a pretty swell guy (though no one will ever catch you saying that out loud). But that's not all, he also brought along his brother, an annoying, lazy, snickering little skeleton man who is good at pushing all of your rage buttons.</p>
<p>How you are going to make it through this week as preparations for the wedding get under way you have no idea, but your pretty sure it might end with you murdering the short skeleton. <br/>And no you did NOT just laugh internally at that joke... <br/>And no you are NOT just starting arguments with Sans because for some reason you enjoy bickering at him...<br/>And surely the sweet innocent Papyrus is NOT working with your sister on some sort of cunning plan involving both Sans and yourself right now...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Merry War

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing in second person present tense, so I apologize in advance for any tense slips. ;)

“You call this a tip lady?”

The cab drivers irate words fall on deaf ears as you slam the cab door shut and make your way through the throng of people to the restaurant that was your destination. The steel in the set of your jaw, and the fire that flashes in your eyes is enough to keep most people from walking too close to you in the crowded street, even though no one really seems to be paying you very close attention. When one is practiced enough at exuding a no-shit attitude, people in the vicinity tend to avoid the general direction of where their sixth-sense informs them peril is walking. This is a skill you were quite proud to say you’ve cultivated into an art over the years. That and your high alcohol tolerance, though that particular gift is more of a double-edged sword these days, as it took slightly more whiskey then usual to bring on the buzz that was necessary for today’s lunch meeting.

Granted you were coming to this cute little hipster restaurant to meet your sister, and four-year-old niece; both people you love dearly, and don’t mind spending time with. But you were also meeting with your sister’s fiancé - soon to be husband. Sure, you’ve meet the guy on several occasions, and he’s even managed to pass your not-so-subtle tests, and meet your very high standards for a potential mate to your sister, whom you tend to be very protective of. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t still slightly irked at the idea of the guy soon becoming an in-law.

What is even more annoying is that you are also going to be meeting his brother today. Which besides the fact that you generally do not enjoy meeting new people to begin with, from what you’ve heard about your sister’s fiancé’s brother so far, he sounds like the kind of louse you take pains to stay away from in your everyday life.  And now here you are about to try and hold back your natural attitude of heinous bitch (a title you happen to hold a lot of pride in thank-you-very-much), and play nice for the sake of your sister.

As you approach the double doors of the quaint restaurant, the planets align to throw one more curveball of pure infuriation your way, as some random guy swoops past you in time to pull open one of the doors, standing to the side and gesturing for you to enter the building. He wore his best patronizing grin as he opens his mouth and one of the most annoying phrases a man can utter falls directly out.

“Hey, smile sweetheart!”

The idiot had nearly knocked an old lady off her feet in his rush to get to the door before you, and yet you can almost already hear the men of the world cry out in unison about the death of chivalry as you shoot the asshat one of your patented withering glares, and pull open the other door for yourself, pointedly ignoring his gesture.

“How about you pull your head out of your sphincter, and shove that ‘sweetheart’ up there instead. Then maybe I’ll have something to smile about?” You return with a falsely sweet inflection.

You don’t wait for a response as you breeze past him. Your verbal assaults tend to leave this particular breed of dudebro mentally broken for long enough to make a hasty escape according to your past experiences. However, you’re barely a few steps away before you hear him give a halfhearted comeback.

“You know, rude chicks are lonely chicks!”

The note of defeat just barely detectable under the predominant petulant tone in his voice is enough to sustain you for now, and you don’t even slow down as you respond, mostly to yourself.

“Good, I’m counting on it.”

Luckily it seems he’s gotten the hint, and slinks off to lick his wounds, and you’re left in peace while you scan the restaurant for your sister. It doesn’t take long for your eyes to fall, not on her familiar face, but onto the face of an unfamiliar skeleton monster, who seems to be smirking at you from a few tables away. This, as it turns out, is significant, as your sister’s fiancé is also a skeleton monster.

You consider how ridiculous, (and on so many levels too), this statement would have been if you’d been presented with it only a couple of years ago. Before the barrier was broken that held the monsters prisoner underneath the now famous Mount Ebott, if someone had suggested that your sister might one day marry a walking, talking skeleton, you might have in turn suggested that said person please find the nearest trash compactor and place themselves directly into it. Even when the world at large was made aware that monsters did indeed exist, in many shapes and sizes, and were generally very pleasant to be around, if you had to have guessed that your sister would become enamored of one, you would have wagered a bet on something sweet, innocent, and fuzzy. Once again, the six-foot-seven-inch skeleton was the least expected.

Of course, once you got to know said skeleton monster, it soon became apparent exactly why your sister ended up taking a fancy to him. Despite his rather intimidating outward appearance, it turned out he was about the same flavor of cavity inducing sweet-natured that your sister was. Even the circumstances of how they met was like a story from some sickeningly sugary romcom, as your sister had met him shortly after taking on a job as the arts and crafts teacher at a new school run by monsters, where he apparently taught gym. You might possibly gag if you had to think back to how much she had gushed about how cute he was while playing with the children.

Instead you forcefully eject that mental image as you approach the table with the smirking skeleton, and find that it does indeed also accommodate your niece, your sister, and her fiancé.

“AUNTIE!!”

The delighted squeal from Beatrice, the aforementioned niece, was enough to temporarily defrost your usually frigid mood, as the young girl launches herself from the booth, and attaches herself to your middle.

“Honey Bea!” you respond with a rare genuine smile, and give the small girl a tight hug.

“Oh good you made it Kate!” Your sister’s smile is warm, and relieved. Did she really think you would ever stand her up?

Just as the indignant thought crosses your mind, Papyrus, her fiancé, also stands from his seated position and gathers you in a large, crushing hug, trapping a giggling Beatrice between the two of you. Oh yeah, he does shit like this. And this is part of why you don’t want to be here and also why there was every chance you might’ve skipped today’s lunch.

“FUTURE SISTER!” His voice is really too loud for indoor dining.

“In-law,” you mutter grumpily, but not quite loud enough for anyone to hear. In a more audible octave, you implore your sister, “Hey, uh, Emily, you mind calling him off?”

Luckily Papyrus drops the physical contact without having to be convinced, and regains his seat, Beatrice having somehow detached from you in the process, is now sticking to his middle like she’s made of Velcro. If you are ever to be forced (while at gun-point) to admit a virtue that you can appreciate about your soon to be brother in-law, it would be that he and Bea got along incredibly well. And you can at least begrudgingly and secretly appreciate anyone that makes her smile that much.

“Sans, this is Kate,” Emily says to the shorter skeleton that had been smirking at you earlier, “and this is Papyrus’ brother Sans.” She finishes turning back to you.

“Nice to meet you _sweetheart_ ,” he says to you with a wink, and the most infuriating shit-eating grin you’ve ever had the displeasure of witnessing.

With that statement two things become abundantly clear. Firstly that he had overheard your exchange with the earlier jerk upon entering the restaurant, and is clearly extremely self amused by giving you shit about it, and secondly, that you now know you don’t dislike Sans, instead you _loathe_ him.

You have to physically bite down on your tongue to keep back the vitriolic words that are currently burning a hole through the back of your throat. Your very young niece is less than three feet away after all, and the hell if anyone is about to say you don’t have self control. You are vaguely aware that your left eye is twitching ever so slightly, but you manage to gain control over your temper with a deep exhale through your nose.

Emily is visibly flinching in your peripheral vision. She knows better than most how much you hate pet names, especially patronizing pet names like the one you just endured not just once, but twice within ten minutes. Ever the peacekeeper though, she cheerfully tries to break the tension.

“Have a seat sis, the food here is amazing! We already ordered, but we saved a menu for you, the server should be back soon.” She pushes a small paper menu across the table to you with a strained smile, and pleading eyes. Sans, who has one side of the booth to himself, and thus is gatekeeper to the only seating left at the table, scoots away to give you room to sit. You let out another quiet exhale, and take the offered seat next to him.

However, as soon your bottom makes contact with the booth, a loud, prolonged, rude sound rips through the air.

_A. Fucking. Whoopee Cushion? Are they serious with this right now??_

Several other patrons of the restaurant turn to look in the direction of your table, as Beatrice and Papyrus both dissolve into uncontrollable fits of laughter, (Bea’s laugh a shrill giggle, while Papyrus’ laugh contains a lot of loud ‘NYEH’s’. No wonder everyone is looking). Emily looks like she is having the most difficult internal struggle of her life between whether to laugh or cry, and Sans…

Sans just sits there, grinning at you, skull resting casually on his hand. You know right away who the mastermind behind this is. You’re fairly certain that you’ve never wished more fervently that you could make someone burst into flames with the intensity of your glare like you do now as you pull the flat, small rubber circle out from under you and thrust it across to him.

“Gee, what depths of humor and wit you posses, I’m sure you’re the life of children’s parties.” You say in monotone, laying the sarcasm down a little excessively, and pointedly ignoring whatever pained look your sister might be making by now, but the skeleton monster seems entirely unfazed.

“Hey, Paps and Bea clearly found it to be a real _gas_.” He responds with a shrug.

Oh fantastic, he has jokes too. You suppress a slight twitch as you subconsciously admit it was actually a pretty clever pun, but you’ll be damned if you give this creep the satisfaction of even a smirk. However, Papyrus (even though he’d obviously found the farting sound from the whoopee cushion to be the pinnacle of comedic genius just moments before), is clearly not a fan of puns, as a loud groan from across the table ends his mirthful laughter rather abruptly.

You’ve never been quite as happy to have a server suddenly show up and interrupt a conversation as much as you did now. The waitress smiles vacantly at you as she asks if you are ready to order. You haven’t even had a chance to look at the menu yet, but you are not about to dismiss your apron clad savior so quickly.

“Do you have a cob salad here?” you question while rubbing your throbbing temples.

The waitress answers in the affirmative, but before you can confirm your order, Papyrus chimes in rather loudly, “WAIT, future sister, you should order the spaghetti here, it’s almost as good as my own homemade pasta!”

“Thanks, I’ll have the cob.” You interject stiffly over Papyrus, with a forced smile.

His slightly crestfallen expression makes you falter internally; you feel slightly like you’ve just kicked a puppy. What’s more, spaghetti doesn’t sound bad, but it is almost as if you just can’t suppress that knee-jerk reflex to be contrary, especially when you are annoyed. You hand over your unused menu to the waitress and she leaves you with a glass of water, which you happily use to wash down a couple of ibuprofens you fish from your handbag to combat the headache that is making an appearance. The buzz you’d worked so hard for before coming here today was beginning to wear off and you have no idea how you are going to deal with the two skeleton brothers for the rest of this meal sober.

An awkward silence reigns over the table for a few moments. You pointedly look anywhere but at your lunch companions, even though you can feel a heavy gaze emanating from the brother seated next to you, and you fight the urge to return with a shrewd glance of your own. The quiet is broken as Beatrice makes a happy sound when she discovers the children’s placemat she’s already thoroughly colored has a connect the dots puzzle on the back, and pushes it cheerfully to Papyrus, who seems just as delighted as she is, and the two begin working on it together. A small smile lifts one corner of your mouth ever so slightly without you even realizing it.

“So you two are sisters?” Sans asks in his low drawl, white pinpricks of light in his eye sockets dance between Emily and you questioningly.

You know what the unspoken question is, as you’ve heard it many times before. The two of you are nothing alike. Emily is tall, willowy, and fair. She’s charming and soft spoken, and the most generous person you know. And you are pretty much the complete opposite of her in almost every way. How can the two of you ever be related? And the answer is you actually aren’t. Em is already answering the question, even though you’re not quite comfortable with how close to your past the answer skims.

“Oh, well, we aren’t actually sisters,” she says hesitantly. “Kate’s been my friend since grade school. When we were fourteen, she came to live with my family, and even though she’s not adopted or anything, we just started introducing ourselves as sisters.”

You are inwardly grateful that Emily manages to explain this while glossing over the reason why you ended up living with your best friend, and you covertly shoot her a grateful smile that she returns warmly. You don’t even like talking with people you are close with about your biological family, let alone mildly irritating strangers. Further proving that she is the best person you know, Emily then goes on to flawlessly change the subject.

She discusses her job at the monster school (some human children have started attending as well to the delight of both her, and Toriel, the monster who runs the school), then begins to go over details of the upcoming wedding. Papyrus chimes in happily from time to time, but both you and Sans seem content at letting them go on for some time carrying the conversation. It’s not long however before she notices your lack of participation, and turns the subject back onto you.

“So how is work Kate, are you still writing for that magazine?” She asks with a bright smile.

You sigh internally. Of course Emily doesn’t realize she’d just brought up yet another annoying aspect of your life. As a starving writer, some time ago you finally made the jump into true adulthood by taking a job you hate just to pay the bills. Writing articles on banal, brainless topics that make you want to vomit every time you hand them over to your editor at a small local magazine is your definition of hell. But booze costs money, and you’re making excruciatingly slow progress on your novel.

“Oh, you know, same old thing, slowly sucking my mind and soul out through a computer screen until I one day resemble the kind of empty corporate shills I write about.” You respond glibly.

Another slightly awkward silence falls over the group, as you refuse to meet your sister’s eyes, afraid she might have that spark of pity in them you hate to see. However, once again arriving just in time like a superhero from a comic book, the server shows up with your meals. She passes out the orders, Bea giving another happy squeal, followed by excitedly chanting “’Paghetti! ‘Paghetti! ‘Paghetti!” in her slightly garbled four-year-old lisp as plates of pasta are set in front of both her and Papyrus. Apparently the bonehead has been rubbing off on her quite a bit. You try to decide whether this is a good thing or not, then simply give up and focus on your lunch instead.

Everyone tucks into their meals with only a small amount of additional chattering, and you decide the food here is good enough to consider this part of the meeting to be semi-bearable. Though there is one point when Sans manages to catch your eye (you’ve been resolutely ignoring that corner of the table for a while now), while picking up the container of ketchup at the table, and instead of pouring the condiment over his food like you had been expecting, throws it back like a frat boy at a party chugging a bottle of blue ribbon. Your poker face game is strong though, and with only a slight roll of your eyes you return focus to your meal, absolutely sure that he is once again trying to fuck with you. Honestly, who _drinks_ ketchup? You think as you pretend your stomach didn’t just roll nauseatingly at the thought.

“Oh Bea, you are getting marinara _everywhere_!” Emily notices her daughter has been enjoying her spaghetti by hand for the past few minutes, and tries valiantly to clean her with a napkin at the table before finally giving up, and motions for Papyrus to let her out of the booth. “I’ll be right back, gonna take pasta fingers here to the little girls room.” She says with a wink and a hasty exit.

You scream internally at being left alone with the two brothers and daydream about how much more relaxing being water boarded would be right now as opposed to this hellishly awkward lunch. And of course no sooner is Em and Bea gone then Sans pipes up.

“So Pap, what was that you were telling me the other day, about a conversation you and Kate here were having when you first met her?”

Your eyes narrow, and your head slowly turns to meet the strange expression on the face of the skeleton next to you. You’re not sure what conversation he’s talking about right away, and neither does Papyrus it seems, but then you remember how harsh you were on the taller skeleton when you’d first met him. Granted you are pretty harsh to most people in general, but guys Emily introduces you too are a special case. Especially after what happened with Beatrice’s biological father.

Emily get’s pretty miffed at you when you play protective sister too, but when you’d first met Papyrus, you couldn’t help yourself. And it wasn’t because he was a monster. Though human/monster relationships were taboo at first, ever since that robot monster Mettaton, and Zachary Quinto were a Hollywood power couple for a short time, it’s become less of an issue. No the problem you’d had with Papyrus when you’d first met him was his brash, almost conceited-seeming personality.

You’ve dealt with enough annoying, self-important fuckboys in your day to never want to see one anywhere near your sweet, innocent sister. So when Emily’s new boyfriend had introduced himself as ‘The Great Papyrus’, you naturally came to the wrong conclusion, and had spent the next half hour being outright rude, and combative with him. Eventually you noticed that your scathing remarks weren’t just rolling off his back because he had an impenetrable ego, but because he was genuinely unaware that you might actually dislike him. It soon became apparent that what you had misconstrued as a self-centered, cocky attitude was simply innocent, over exuberant self-confidence. Much to your sister’s relief you cut Papyrus some slack after that, but not so much slack that you didn’t manage to corner him to yourself right before parting that day to give him the same thinly veiled threat you gave to previous suitors. (Well almost the same threat; you were unsure of skeleton monster anatomy, so left out the part about castration with a rusty spoon.)

“What was it, something along the lines of, ‘I’ll personally disassemble you bone by bone and feed the pieces to a pack of feral dogs’?” he asks with a humorless chuckle. The small white points of lights in his eye sockets have inexplicably disappeared, giving his gaze a hollow, menacing heaviness.

Papyrus looks slightly uncomfortable, beads of sweat forming on his skull, as he awkwardly scratches the back of his head, “Nyeh heh, Emily told me you were merely joking, though I admit the joke went over my head, so I asked Sans to explain it to me.”

Your eyes never leave Sans’ face however as you return his dark stare with a haughty, level gaze of your own, even though the hairs on the back of your neck are standing on end from the intensity of his expression, and the implied threat at the back of his tone. You have a glare that can stare down a charging bull though and the hell if you were going to let this bag of bones start pushing you around.

“Actually I believe that threat was prefaced with ‘You even breathe funny in Emily’s direction’, but yes, the rest of it was something along those lines.” You replied with a smirk, bringing the straw of your water glass to your mouth and taking a sip without breaking eye contact.

Papyrus seems to have reached the limit for what he could handle in this strained situation, and suddenly stands from the table. “I’m going to go find our server and inform her we are ready for the check and some takeout boxes!” he proclaims loudly.

You break eye contact with Sans for long enough to watch Papyrus march purposefully away, and by the time you look back, it appears as if his expression has relaxed, the white dots of his eyes having returned, though they still watch you carefully.

“It looks like we both care an awful lot for our families, so I’ll let it slide this time,” he shrugs nonchalantly, and you scoff internally, “but just as a friendly tip lady, you mess with Paps again, and _**you’re gonna have a bad time**_.”

Tense silence follows his words, during which you both trade blank stares. You break the showdown with a derisive snort however; grabbing your purse and fishing out enough cash to more then cover your own meal, with a hefty, well deserved tip for the server, and slap it down on the table. Standing you pause long enough to look back at Sans with fire in your eyes and respond, “You can take your little _friendly tip_ and shove it in your eye socket bone boy.” before storming out of the restaurant.


End file.
